The Judas Touch
by Doxiesrcool
Summary: Ryan has amnesia. Summer's in danger. Can Seth find and save them both? Updated!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Warner Brothers and Fox. The author has only borrowed them to torture them for a while.  
  
Note: This story is unbeta'd, sorry! The beta'd version was eaten by my computer when my hard drive crashed. I'm reconstructing from memory. Thank you, Lisa, for giving it a go the first time around!  
  
This is my first attempt at OC fanfic. Please, let me know if I've done the characters justice or if I've screwed up royally. Feedback of any kind is a wonderful thing! Thank you for taking the time to read this! Later chapters will probably be longer.  
  
Anna  
  
The Judas Touch  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Get out, Ryan." Her words rang though his mind like the reverberation of a gong. It had been one hell of a fight. She'd been drunk ... again...despite her promises to quit or let her therapist help her. Promises laced with tears and guilt; that's what Marissa was good at, just like his Mom. This time, Marissa wasn't the only one angry. He was so pissed he couldn't think straight. His heart beat so fast that the blood swelled his eardrums and muted the world. He couldn't hear her pleas for forgiveness.just one more time. One last time and she'd never do it again.  
  
Betrayal, recriminations and fear all swirled through his mind in a pounding storm that just rumbled in his ribs and struck lightening through his heart. 'Alcoholism is a disease, not a choice, said the so-called experts.' Yeah, right. She had to seek out the booze, open it and choose to chug a whole bottle of vodka right before their date-just because she was angry at her mother. She knew she had to meet him. She knew they were going out to dinner to celebrate Valentine's Day early. Still, she took out all of her frustrations, her fears and her hatred on him; lost in a slurring haze of Vodka and orange juice. Screwdrivers, but he was the one who got screwed. He'd had one woman beat him emotionally for most of his short life; he wasn't sure he could allow another woman to do it for any significant length of time. The thought terrified him; that he'd have to live with another version of his mother forever.  
  
Even as the hateful thoughts spun through his head for the thousandth time, he was embarrassed and ashamed by them. Maybe Marissa didn't have a choice in her addictions. Maybe he was being unkind, uncompassionate, even hurtful in his anger. But, dammit, didn't her promises mean anything? Didn't his feelings mean anything to her? How could he stay with a girl he couldn't trust?  
  
He pedaled faster on his bike, determined to put as much distance between himself and Marissa as he could, at least until he could calm down and chase away the demons of his mother's alcoholism that seemed to superimpose themselves over Marissa's face right now. The cool wind from the ocean howled in his ears. He didn't pay attention to the road, cared only about getting home. Tears blurred his eyes until the scenery sped by in a fuzzy downhill race. He rode down a long straight stretch of deserted street, paralleled by a sidewalk and deep ditch. The houses were well back from the street, hidden behind tall manicured bushes and trees. A gulf of lawn stretched between sidewalk and housing perimeters like a moat. He kept his gaze locked on the gutter he rode in, glancing up only long enough to ensure he didn't run a stop sign or hit any cars backing out of the rare driveway. The burn of exercise in his thighs felt wonderful, the surge of endorphins numbing some of the pain in his heart. He inhaled deeply the tang of sea air. The stiff breeze whistled in his ears as he gained speed.  
  
He sensed something approach an instant too late.  
  
He didn't have time to glance over his shoulder. No time to swerve. No time to scream.  
  
In a flash of red, a car sideswiped him, caught his left handlebar and flung him, bike and all, into the air like a dog's shaken toy. Ryan hit the sidewalk on his shoulder, rolled, slid, smacked against a fire hydrant, and caught a glimpse of Luke's pals gaping out the window of the departing car just as he teetered on the brink of the ditch for one slow-motion second.  
  
He tumbled into the ditch and sloshed onto his back in two inches of grimy water. As he heard the car speed away, the stench of rotten leaves made his nose itch and the world went dark.  
  
** 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you, everyone, for the reviews! They really mean a lot!  
  
Paris, sorry, hon! Posting this Wip was spur of the moment. And I promise more Avatar soon.  
  
Heath, you found one of my faults! Thank you! "Justs" are like nail biting for me; I don't realize I did it until it's too late. Thanks for the constructive crit.  
  
Hope you all enjoy the story! Thank you for your time. Anna ~~  
  
The Judas Touch  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Seth jumped as the front door slammed. His gaze darted over to his mother, who sat sipping a sup of coffee on the other couch. The TV blared a movie. His mother quickly muted it, and set the remote and her cup on the small table between them.  
  
"Sandy? It that you?"  
  
Sandy Cohen, Seth's dad, stalked in, tossing his briefcase on the couch. "You know, there ought to be a law against idiot drivers."  
  
"I thought you loved the challenge, honey?" Kirsten stood and placed a soft kiss on his lips.  
  
He returned it and then scowled, shaking his head at her as she dropped back onto the couch. "You didn't hear?"  
  
"What? We've been watching Gladiator."  
  
"The 55/West Coast Highway interchange's all snarled up. Some idiot tried to drag race through traffic with this fog coming in and caused a pileup. Can you believe it? Idiots." He scooped up the remote and flipped to the news. "Look, fifty cars. Fifty! I would've been home an hour ago but all of the roads out here were blocked with traffic."  
  
"Dad, isn't the Rover four wheel drive?"  
  
Sandy shot Seth a dirty look. "Not in the neighbor's extended yards it isn't."  
  
"Whoa look at that jackknifed truck!" Seth crowed, pointing at the television.  
  
Sandy slipped onto the couch beside his wife, pulling her close again. Not wanting to witness parental displays of affection, Seth notched up the volume on the TV, leaning closer to catch the gory details as the well endowed red-head announced them.  
  
".and that leaves an estimated seventy-eight people injured. Most of the injured have been taken to HOAG as it is the nearest hospital. Others are being routed to other area hospitals. At the bottom of your screen you will see a number to call for information on loved ones. In other news there was a hit and run accident on Via Lido between a motorist and bicyclist. The driver has not been identified. There were no witnesses."  
  
The scene shifted to a stretch of road that Seth identified as a steep, nearly deserted patch on their route home from school. At the edge of two major housing communities, it had a sidewalk paralleling the road that passed in front of an empty extended lawn stretching moat-like up to a wall of bushes hiding houses. He regularly skateboarded along the sidewalk. "A woman walking her dog found the unidentified teenage male bicyclist at the scene. He was taken to HOAG by ambulance shortly before the pileup. So far, the young man has not been identified." The camera zoomed in on the bike and a tattered back pack that sprawled in the road.  
  
Suddenly ice water slithered down Seth's body from his head to his toes. He gaped in disbelief, holding his breath unknowingly.  
  
"The police are asking for your help in locating the hit and run driver. Anyone with any information is to call your local police substation. And now for the weather, Greg?"  
  
"Mom, Dad," Seth croaked, unable to speak well past the bogyman gripping his throat in a chokehold.  
  
"What? You say something, Seth?"  
  
"The TV." Seth motioned numbly at the screen with the remote, not turning to look at his parents.  
  
"Yeah, looks like thicker fog and a cool night." Sandy casually twirled a long strand of Kirsten's golden hair. "Maybe I should toss a blanket over the roses. You think it'll get that cool?"  
  
Seth shook his head numbly, his brain refusing to admit what he knew he had just seen.  
  
"Where's Ryan?" Seth asked.  
  
Sandy and Kirsten both glanced over their shoulders at the kitchen behind them. "With Marissa, I assume. He had soccer practice and then was going to go over to her house," Kirsten said.  
  
Sandy started punching numbers into his cell phone.  
  
"He's not there." Seth whispered, his voice tiny as the enormity of what he'd seen pierced the numb shock. Ryan had been hit by a car. It had to be him. Same bike. Same backpack. Same road.  
  
"Hmm?" Sandy's glanced at him past the cell phone he held up to his ear.  
  
Suddenly, energized by terror and the certainty that his pseudo-brother was dead, Seth leapt to his feet and whirled on his parents, gesturing wildly in time with his words and jabbing with the TV remote for emphasis. "He's. Not. THERE! He's on the news. I just saw his bike on the news. The fucking NEWS. Oh my god, call the hospital." Belatedly, he realized he'd just cussed at his parents, but he was too upset to care.  
  
Sandy's massive brows flew up in surprise. He glanced at Kirsten, then dialed a different number. "I think I will. Just to be sure."  
  
"They just showed a hit and run on the news. The bike, Dad. That was Ryan's bike. Ryan's backpack. I know it was. I know it was. I can feel it in my GUT!" he cried through clenched teeth. Then he stared at his parents with shock-glazed eyes. "Ryan's been hit by a car."  
  
**  
  
All he knows is that he's male and he's alone. The sun hangs like a watery orange eye over the horizon, visible in flashes between the buildings as he walks. A tang of salt in the air dances with a hint of wet chill, tickling the back of his throat and making him cough. He doesn't know if he's getting sick. He feels strange, his head hurts, body aches, feet move like he's under water, but he can't pinpoint what's wrong. That would take too much effort. He shivers into his jacket, thankful that he has something to protect him against what might be a cool night. He stumbles over a crack in the broken sidewalk, swaying and stopping before a large window. Inside, Christmas lights twinkle and Santa puffs a pipe as he circles a sparkly tree on a train. The tinsel drips like tears and all he can think of is Puff the Magic Dragon as Santa stokes away.  
  
He grins. He thinks he's always liked Santa, but somehow he feels betrayed. He can't remember presents, only loud voices. Only pain. Involuntarily, he flinches and hugs himself. Christmas is a fuzzy memory, wavering and dancing away when he tries to capture it. He looks up, catching his reflection in the darkened glass. Taking a step to the side, he falls into a ray of light from the setting sun, bathing half of his face in amber repose, the other half in shadow.  
  
I have blue eyes, he thinks. With hesitant fingers he reaches up to touch a bruise on his forehead, a bump above his left brow, and lets them map an unfamiliar face. There was no blood, only a pale bruise, just forming, possibly. His bruised forehead crinkles as he tries to remember what happened to him. The memory is a slippery bar of soap that he can't catch.  
  
This is me. Who am I? Is this bruise why my whole body hurts? Why my ears are ringing? How did I get here?  
  
He tries to concentrate, to remember, but that makes his head explode in knives of pain. The world fogs around him. He sways and throws out a hand to the cool glass. He stands there, one trembling hand pressed to the glass to keep him upright, and takes slow, deep breaths until the world solidifies around him again and the oxygen dulls the knives in his skull. In the reflection he watches a puff of breeze ruffle his short dark blond hair. His gaze trails down to his chin sees only a faint glimmer of reflected gold.  
  
Don't need to shave yet, he thinks. I haven't been gone long. Gone from where?  
  
A woman walking a manicured poodle stops to peer into the store window. He looks up at her, hoping she might recognize him, give him some answers, tell him the way home. Her ice-blue eyes slide over him. She sniffles in distaste and hastens away with her dog in tow.  
  
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, frowns and peers back into the window, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. Suddenly, the sun gasps a last burst of orange light, as if warning him to run inside because night was falling. The sun loses the battle and the street plunges into darkness.  
  
After a moment, he notices that the streetlights nearby are broken, that the only light comes from across the street in a thinly wooded area. Fear ripples through his belly. It's dark. He doesn't want to be alone in the dark but he doesn't know why. Without looking for cars, he darts across the street, falls over a short fence and makes a rumble-tumble beeline for the light. Light is good. Dark is bad.  
  
In the pool of crystalline light, he stops, gasping for breath, sides aching, head pounding, ears filled with a beating rush of blood. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, but that only makes him dizzy, so he steps back until his rear connects with something hard, something smooth. Opening his eyes, he sees he's stepped just out of the circle of light, and leaned against something tall and warm. He slides down, staring at the shapes around him illuminated by the single light. He slides down until he sits with tendrils of steam rising from the damp ground around him, the stone behind his back radiating the heat from the day and warming him through the leather of his jacket. He sits perfectly still until his head clears and he can think again, until the rush in his ears dims to the soft ringing of distant church bells. He stares at the stark crying concrete angels and figures of Mary holding her baby that are thrown into stark repose all around him by the single white light bulb.  
  
Recognition shimmies past him, blowing cold on the hairs at the nape of his neck before slithering back into the darkness he's living in.  
  
How did I get here? The knowledge tickles his awareness, then vanishes in pain, kidnapped by the specter of his injury.  
  
His limbs feel heavy. His eyelids open and close in slow-motion, the effort to raise them sapping the strength from his body. Tiredness creeps up from his feet until he thinks the ground is trying to swallow him. He thinks he hears a whisper above the ringing in his ears.  
  
Is someone calling me?  
  
He blinks and looks around at the headstones and angels. Something slinks behind them, gray and soft, fuzzy and cold, robbing the world of the last bits of color.  
  
A needle of fear jabs him in the stomach, but that isn't enough to overcome his sudden lethargy. His limbs have a mind of their own.  
  
He watches the night fog stream down into the dips in the grass, snake around the silent stones, and pool behind the flat ones until it peeks over the tops like vengeful ghosts.  
  
He shivers, suddenly cold, but still unable to make his limbs follow his commands.  
  
The whisper comes again . or so it seems to him.  
  
His eyes fall shut. He wills them open and succeeds.barely. He's alone. No one there to whisper. No one to call his name.  
  
Gently, he slumps to the side, his cheek coming to rest on grass that tickles his nose. Tiny drops of dew sparkle on the blades before his eyes, tiny bits of steam waltzing up to greet the cold fog. As he watches, the fog coalesces into a woman in a gown that billows and flows around her as if she's underwater.  
  
She seems to glide toward him between the headstones. His mind screams to run, but his body refuses to move. She kneels before him, her silver- streaked blond hair haloed by the light behind her, her face glowing as the bulb refracts through the drops forming her misty face.  
  
He blinks up at her, transfixed, giddy because he can see right through her and it doesn't bother him. Somehow it seems fitting.  
  
"Help me," he murmurs, too tired to sustain fear.  
  
A wistful grin turns up the corners of her mouth. Her blue eyes are soft and full of starlight. She is somehow familiar, yet he can't recall her name.  
  
She reaches out with one ghostly hand and strokes his hair as a mother would a small child. As he closes his eyes and sleep tugs at his awareness, he swears he feels her warm fingers rest upon his cheek, swears he feels ghostly lips brush his brow.  
  
"'night, Grandma," he whispers without realizing it, then dives headlong into sleep.  
  
TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Summer Roberts wiggled in her seat, inching the top of her low cut dress down until her cleavage resembled a mountain gorge. She slicked on her lipstick, luscious ruby, and smacked her lips; certain that the glistening makeup made her look ripe and ready. She knew he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off her and that's exactly what she needed right now; mindless groveling from a rich and handsome guy.  
  
*Anything to take your mind off Seth Cohen and that blonde bitch, Anna. How could he leave me for her? I'll show him! *  
  
The broad smile on her face faltered slightly as she remembered the looks on their betraying faces. And Anna! She played a good game, pretending to be a friend and then taking the first opportunity to stab Summer in the back. That betraying wench made it sound like she was leaving the New Year's Eve party to crawl home and cry into her comic books. Instead she skipped right over and seduced Cohen!  
  
*I'll show her too. Stepmonster let slip a rumor she heard in the day spa that Anna's parents are running back to Philadelphia. Ew! But it's all good for me! I'll show her. Rose is gonna stand up and take back that man. But not tonight. Tonight it's all about me. I need to scratch this itch and prove I've still got men whipped and tied.*  
  
And tonight was part of the plan.  
  
A date. A date with someone that pushed all of the buttons of Seth's insecurities would make him see what he was missing.  
  
*They had the nerve to ask me to still hang out. I'll hang out. Right between them. Let 'em try to get it on with me in the middle. Idiots.*  
  
She slid a glance at the dark haired man behind the wheel. Summer always kept a backup man--just in case.  
  
"Are you okay, honey?" he said in a voice raspy from cigarettes.  
  
She smiled brilliantly. "Of course, Grant. I'm here with you, aren't I? Why wouldn't I be okay?"  
  
"You just, looked a little flushed there for a second. And I said your name three times." He tossed his head in that cute way that she fell for the second she saw him chatting up Marissa's mom at Caleb's birthday party. His dark eyes had lit up with fire the instant he saw her over Julie's shoulder.  
  
*He was mine from that moment on, a grape ripe for the plucking whenever I was ready. Hell, I'm ready now!*  
  
"Oh." She laughed coquettishly. "I was just.admiring this old Mustang and thinking of.how hard it must be to keep track of all the banks you own and oversee. All those people. All those buildings. All that money. Do you have to visit each branch often?"  
  
He smiled and his suave face transformed into rakish charm.  
  
His smile broadened to show straight white teeth. A banker's teeth. Teeth you had to pay for. "Not often. I have employees to do that. Delegation is the key. Don't do anything you can get someone else to do for you, that's my motto."  
  
"Ah. So." She shifted on the bench seat and crossed her legs, hitching her dress up to the top of her thigh. From the corner of her eye she saw him staring at her creamy flesh and one corner of her lips twitched in a grin.  
  
*Hook. Line and sinker, baby.*  
  
But the rush of triumph was strangely missing.  
  
"What have you been doing since Caleb's birthday party? I haven't seen or heard from you in months."  
  
He shrugged, searched the road for something and signaled to turn left. "Earning money. Having fun. Traveling. Say, isn't tonight a school night?"  
  
"Yes. Isn't tonight a work night?"  
  
"Touché. But I'm the boss. No one will miss me if I'm late."  
  
Her mouth filled with a gush of sourness. She turned to glare out the passenger window so that he wouldn't see the anger on her face. "Yeah, well, no one'll miss me either." She turned back, forcing a sweet smile on her face. "Daddy's in Munich for the beauty of the Christmas lights and the old feel of the country. More likely it's the beauty and feel of some young frau though. My stepmom's dancing with oxycontin and Beam these days. She'd sleep through a nuclear blast. I take care of myself, you know?" She pursed her lips and tried to look older, sophisticated.  
  
A frown turned down his full lips, drew his dark brows together. "Too bad. I hate it when no one knows where I am."  
  
"I know where you are." She reached over and stroked her fingernails lightly down his bare arm beneath the rolled up white shirtsleeves.  
  
Summer gave him the smile she knew deepened her dimples, the one that made her irresistible; a girl-woman. But inside, there was no spark. That perplexed her. She should be ecstatic, hungry, charged with the thrill of the hunt for a rich and handsome man. Instead her body rang with emptiness. She should want this rich banker. She DID want him, dammit. She did want Seth. Wait. Grant. The rich guy.with the dark hair that looked so familiar.  
  
She grinned, peering sideways into his brown eyes. Soft eyes. Wide eyes. Brown like Cohen's. Seth's smile. Suddenly she shivered.  
  
*Seth. It's the day before freakin' Valentine's Day and I'm not with him. He'll spend that day with HER. Flowers, candy, dinner, sex. All for her and none for me.*  
  
She blinked back hot tears that brimmed her eyes and stretched languidly, confident in the knowledge that it made her look irresistibly sexy.  
  
Oh, yeah, she needed a good bout of sex to wipe the memory of Seth's dewy eyes and goofy wonderful grin from her heart--at least until she could regroup and form a solid plan. She turned away from Grant, and watched the scenery go by without seeing it, lost in burning memories.  
  
She didn't see the way Grant licked his lips as he craned his neck to see down her dress. She vaguely noticed the streetlights come on, but didn't see that he turned a corner, that the car sped further away from the densely populated area of Newport, that the neighborhood grew seedier and more deserted by the minute.  
  
She twirled a stray lock of hair and imagined Seth's soft hands on her body, her flesh growing warmer with anticipation of chasing away this particular ghost.  
  
**  
  
"What the hell do you mean they can't find him?" Seth demanded incredulously.  
  
"Seth, while I agree with the sentiments, cursing will just upset your mother more."  
  
Kirsten paced with the phone. She snapped it off and tossed it onto the couch with a disgusted look. Father and son stared expectantly.  
  
She raked her fingers through her hair and sniffed as if trying not to cry. "They don't know what happened. They got him on a bed in the ER. Did an initial evaluation. Then the inured started pouring in from the pileup and the nurse got called away because some of the patients had major trauma."  
  
"Did they say what his injuries were?"  
  
"Scrapes, bruises, a knot of the head. A possible concussion. He was fuzzy on the answers to some of their questions. Didn't know why he was in the hospital." Her look turned pleading at their confusion as if she were begging them not to make her explain. "Apparently, a knock on the head can make a person forget the accident, short term memory loss."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And that 's it. A possible concussion. They were going to send him up for a Cat Scan and admit him, but the other accident victims started pouring in so quickly that they didn't have enough staff to handle them all at once. The nurse swore she only left him alone for a few minutes to help give CPR to a patient."  
  
"So? What? So they just let him walk away? He just got up and left the ER and nobody noticed him?"  
  
"There were dozens of patients, confusion, noise.I don't know what all, Seth. It may not have been that hard for him to slip out."  
  
"But...but," he sputtered incoherently. She tugged him into her arms, holding him tightly and stroking the back of his head to comfort him.  
  
"Why didn't he come home, Mom?"  
  
"I didn't know baby. Maybe he's just walking home?"  
  
He squeezed out a few tears, hearing the doubt in his mother's voice. She didn't believe Ryan was walking home. If he still knew where home was, if he had only mild symptoms, Ryan would have called them from the hospital. Seth's arms clutched her convulsively. Something was terribly wrong with Ryan. He could feel it in his bones.  
  
TBC. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hi!  
  
Sorry for the delay in updating. I moved across country and have finally gotten settled, sort of. I'm working on the next chapter. I'll post as soon as it's finished.  
  
Anna  
  
Chapter 4  
  
He awakens to red. Blurred and scarlet, cocking its head as fast a snapping fingers. He blinks the bird into focus.  
  
Cardinal.  
  
Beyond the bird, concrete angels and tall stones stand sentry, guarding him as he slept. He forces his eyes to focus on them.  
  
Cemetery. Why am I in a cemetery?  
  
He pushes up to sit, recumbent against a stone both cool and damp.  
  
How did I get here? I'm not at home. I should be home. Home.  
  
Pain knifes through one eye and he clutches his head, rocking to soothe his tortured mind. Remembering burns and claws like a monster at his willpower. He needs to remember, but the pain is more terrifying than the emptiness.  
  
The pain washes out. Low tide. It'll be back, of that he's certain.  
  
Home? He poses the question softly, gently to his mind.  
  
Chino, the whisper comes.  
  
Chino? Yes, it feels right. It feels familiar. The image of a house in a sea of tall weeds comes unbidden.  
  
"But where is that?" he whispers to the dull wall of fog banked behind a nearby row of cherubs. The stone figures stare back, tears dripping down their cheeks, lambs sleeping at their feet.  
  
He forces himself up and stumbles over the pocked ground. The grass crunches beneath his shoes, his breath puffs in tiny clouds that rush out to join the fog that ebbs and flows around him.  
  
He staggers off the curb into the street. Brakes squeal and he senses something large stop a hairsbreadth from his leg. He waits for the horn. Somehow, he knows it will follow. It doesn't. Hands turn him and he faces a young Latino girl. She speaks quickly in a lilting voice with words that make no sense to him. He can't fight the feeling that he should know some of them, but he doesn't.  
  
"Chino?" he offers.  
  
She stops talking, blinks wide brown eyes, casts a wary glance around the deserted street and nods, pulling him toward the passenger side of the beaten down Pinto and shoves him inside while her gaze darts around as if the landscape were alive and hungry.  
  
**  
  
Seth paced in his room. "I can't believe this, Captain Oats. Can't BELIEVE it! Ryan's lost, possibly dying of a head injury, unconscious with a concussion, kidnapped and sold into white slavery in Mexico for all we know!" he lamented, hands accenting every word. He stopped before his plastic horse, fell to his knees and leaned close. "We need a plan. Yep. We do. Damned cops said he isn't missing for 24 hours. Dad's organizing the neighborhood watch while the Newpsie tramps all hit Mom up for cappuccino and whine about how Ryan's probably robbing a bank somewhere. I can't take it. I. Can't. Take. It. Someone has to actually be searching for Ryan."  
  
He stared at the plastic horse as if listening. "What? What? Oh, Dad and the local soft boys'll find him while Mom's on phone and therapist duty and we should just stay here where we're safe?" He propelled himself to his feet, pointing a finger at the horse. "No. No. Can't do it. Ryan would sure as hell be out there looking for us." He eyed the horse. "Well...me. Sorry."  
  
He dashed to his closet and undressed, pulling on his lamented black turtle neck and a dark jacket. He ran to the window, stopped, glanced at his bed, then ran over and stuffed dirty clothes under his blankets. When he had it just so, he scooped up his skateboard, winked at Captain Oats and slithered out the window.  
  
He flattened up against the wall that separated his house from the house Marissa Cooper grew up in and listened. His father's voice rang out from the slightly raised windows.  
  
"We have to divide the city into sectors. Search in teams. Dammit! Does every move *have* to go up for vote?"  
  
A murmur of noncommittal voices replied.  
  
Sudden anger and urgency speared Seth's gut and made him want to race down into the couch potato horde screaming, "You don't give a shit because *your* kids are safe!" And if they weren't, Dad'd be the first one out searching.  
  
Shaking his head in disgust at the neighborhood's casual response to the missing teen, he squeezed his eyes shut and called up calming music.  
  
A moment later, he whisper-sang, "Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you..." When he opened his eyes again they shone with fiery purpose. "I *am* Fred. I'll find Shaggy and score with Daphne."  
  
Silently, he shoved off, the soft shush of his skateboard's wheels echoing from the houses and the song, a call to arms, filling his mind.  
  
**  
  
When the car creaked to a stop, Summer started out of her daydreams. She blinked to awareness of her surroundings. They had parked in a dark, undeveloped area across the separated by a vacant lot from a strip of adult bookstores and trash heaps. The street had no lamp, but the lamp from the street with the porno shops glinted from a nearby dumpster.  
  
He shut the car off. Silence rung like a bell in her ears.  
  
"Grant? What the hell? What about lobster at the Ivy? The paparazzi? The autographs?" She didn't even attempt to keep the indignant tone from her voice. She stopped her tirade before a rage blackout kicked in. The full import of her situation washed over her: darkness, empty lot, deserted street, an unknown location, and her alone with an older, much larger man.  
  
The click-zip of his seat belt unhooking and retracting stabbed her stomach like an icicle. No way. She had to be imagining things. Was he putting the moves on her? She glanced sideways to find him sliding toward her with slow, deliberate movements and a dumb grin on his no longer handsome face.  
  
"Grant?" she squeaked.  
  
"Summer, gorgeous, Summer. Damn you're hot."  
  
"What? So? Don't come near me."  
  
He chuckled low in his throat. Normally the sound would turn her on but this sound chilled her, like the warning growl of a rabid dog. "But you're a banker!"  
  
"I lied."  
  
"You lied to Caleb Nichol?"  
  
He shrugged, sliding an arm along the top of the seat, a predatory grin on his full lips, a dark glint in his eyes. "Guy's gotta make a living. Anyway, you said when you accepted my date that you needed a bit of fun. Some risk. And I can tell you want me. You've been begging me with your eyes all night."  
  
"OHHH, no." She shook her head, automatically undoing her seatbelt and groping for the door handle.  
  
Her fingers touched on metal, the handle whirled in a circle. The window. Not the door. Damned old non-electric cars! The window slid down a few inches.  
  
"Get away," she warned. "I have rage blackouts and I will rip you a new one!" Her questing fingers found a sharp metal nub where the door handle should be.  
  
Fangs of cold realization bit into her stomach. There was no door handle on her side.  
  
*I can't open the door.*  
  
She gaped at him in horror.  
  
"You planned this," she whispered.  
  
He smiled, and she shivered at the pure malice on his face illuminated by the distant streetlight.  
  
"I'm not a banker. And I no know one will miss you tonight, Summer." His silky voice made her tremble with fear. His eyes glimmered with glee and anticipation.  
  
As he lunged for her, Summer began to scream.  
  
To be continued. 


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all for the feedback! Glad you're enjoying the ride! Any and all comments are welcome. Yes, even if you think something sucks. Enjoy! Anna  
  
Chapter 5  
  
He stands on a narrow street, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, as if the occupants of the houses try to hide the peeling paint and comparative poverty with blossoms. He stares at the house; its yard tousled, fraying chain link fence open, clay shingles missing so the rain drips on his bed at night. Home. Dim memories zip by too quickly for him to decipher, so he absorbs them, allows them to illuminate some inner darkness like fireflies, then releases them to vanish into the night.  
  
*Mom will wonder where I am. Dad will beat me for missing curfew.* The thought comes from some distant place.  
  
He finds himself moving. He has to get into bed before he's discovered missing. He smoothes through the shadows to the side of the small house and feels the bottom edge of the window. Somehow he knows it doesn't close all the way. The lock is broken. It's always been broken.  
  
The window slides up with little effort, squealing softly like a protesting mouse. He freezes, listening for voices inside, for any tiny sound that signals he's been caught. Only the leaves swishing above his head and the bird-call-squeak of a branch scraping against wood fill his ears.  
  
He throws a leg over and steps inside.  
  
In the dimness, he stumbles and can't find his bed. It should be against the wall, near the window, draped in the threadbare blanket that doesn't cover his feet when he pulls it up to his chin.  
  
Finally, he finds the bed on the opposite wall, where the dresser should be. He doesn't wonder how it moved. Dad was always ripping his room apart looking for hidden transgressions even when there were none to find.  
  
He perches on the edge of the bed, soaking in the softness, the sweet scent of clean cotton sheets, and lies down, snuggling against his big warm pillow.  
  
Something next to him squirms, wriggles. Silken hair falls across his face in a spray that smells like bubble gum. He gasps in confusion.  
  
*Someone in my bed?*  
  
A small hand hits his side. The hair slides from his face as the warm body next to him sits up.  
  
An inhaled breath. A pause. Suddenly...  
  
"Daddy!" comes the ear-splitting scream.  
  
**  
  
Three figures disengaged themselves from the darkness like melting ice slipping down to glide in a circle around him.  
  
"Aw, guys," Seth said, holding his hands out defensively. "I don't mean to tread on your turf or sacred ground or anything here. I'm just looking for my brother. Kind of a quest if you like."  
  
"You got any money in there, snowflake?" one asked, gaze slicing through the thin jacket Seth wore.  
  
"Nope. No, no money. Wish I did 'cause I can see you guys can all use a cup of coffee or..." He floundered, mind clawing for a means of escape from the three muscular young men. "A strong beer or...something." Hopefully not something that would make them crazed and homicidal. The one with the most scars on his face took a step closer and grabbed Seth's arm, snatching him from his skateboard. Another stepped around him and kicked his skateboard aside. It rolled a few feet and stopped, as if waiting for him.  
  
"Now, wait, WAIT! I don't put up much of a fight. I never have. So where's the fun in beating up some destitute slob who can't fight back, huh? Come on, guys."  
  
The one gripping his arm leaned close enough that Seth could smell pizza on his breath. "We're bored, wimp. Bored and we don't like trespassers on our block."  
  
Seth babbled a reply, uncertain he was even using words, certain he was about to die.  
  
The roar of a car approached. It zipped past them and vanished as the road curved down the block. A siren echoed eerily in the near distance, growing louder. Seth peered over pizza-breath's shoulder and saw the dancing lights of a police cruiser careening toward them. Pizza- breath released him suddenly.  
  
Seth whirled, instinct making him leap on his board and fling himself down the street as fast as he could. The cruiser whipped past him in a gust of oily air.  
  
Distantly, he heard the cussing of the trio behind him turn to laughter. He assumed they made a joke about the weak coward running away.  
  
"No Scooby snacks for you, Cohen," he muttered, skating along the curve of the street as it turned into another, seedier block, and trying not to think about his narrow escape.  
  
**  
  
As Grant threw his body down on her, Summer brought her foot up at the last moment, scooting backward on her butt to find leverage with her back against the door.  
  
He grunted and cursed and as her spike heel pierced his jacket. Backing up for a moment, he whipped it off. She raked her nails across his face, going for his eyes, tangling his hand inside the jacket. He roared and head butted her. Stars exploded before her eyes and she fell back, flat on the seat. He flung the jacket into the back seat and she felt cold fingers grasp her ankle. He yanked her closer so that she laid prone, knees on either side of his hips. He pressed his body to hers.  
  
No! She wriggled, trying to get her hands up to claw him again. He used his body weight to pin her arm down across her boy between them. She couldn't raise her hands. But she could still move them a little.  
  
"Grant, please don't do this," she begged.  
  
He rose up a little and opened the glove box with one hand.  
  
She used the momentary respite to wriggle her hand to his crotch, taking his swollen manhood in her fingers. He moaned.  
  
"That's better. You going to cooperate now like a good little slut?"  
  
"Uh, huh," she lied, tears coursing down her cheeks. Let him think she was scared. Let him think she was giving up. Let him think she was going along with him. He rubbed himself on her hand and she moved her fingers until she could cup him.  
  
Suddenly, she curved her fingers and plunged her nails into him through the think fabric of his jeans, gripping as hard as she could.  
  
He wailed in surprise, then whimpered and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed in pain. The world hazed to red around her.  
  
When he raised his head his teeth sparkled crimson in the dashboard lights. His face was transformed, not the handsome dark-haired man with dewy eyes, but a gorgon with fangs that dripped blood. "Good thing I wore Levis," he snarled.  
  
Then he raised his hand. A needle flashed in the light from the streetlamps as he lifted it above the level of the window. He plunged it down. It bit into her neck and a slight burning crept through her veins. She screamed again. Her finger convulsed in his crotch. She twisted as hard as she could.  
  
He howled in pain and reared up from her. She kicked out, reached up and knocked the syringe from her neck. Fluid spewed from the needle as it bounced from the dashboard.  
  
Then the world fogged. His panting seemed to echo and expand around her.  
  
"Damn, you didn't get all of it. But, I think you got enough." His voice pulsed around her, seeming to come from a great distance. "You know, Valium works on the central nervous system, Summer my dear. Fast. Soon you'll be asleep or so zoned out; you'll do whatever I say." He laughed maniacally.  
  
Dimly, she felt his hands sneak up her thighs, heard his muttered epitaphs and the way he damned her for her trying to defend herself. Her ears filled with the rushing of her own blood pumping slowly through her veins. Summoning the last of her coherence, she shrieked for help, raising her hand to beat weakly on the window.  
  
TBC.  
  
Note: Valium can make a person fall asleep, or be groggy, zoned out, slightly incoherent and nauseous, depending on how much they get and how their particular system reacts to it. Believe me. I had it for back pain a few weeks ago. Never again, hopefully.  
  
Anna 


End file.
